The young woman said to the adventurer, "All will be explained, sir; my greatest, my only wrong toward you has been in doubting the generosity of your character, and the loyalty of your devotion. Father Griffen, although he answered for you, has been, like myself, deceived as to the real motive of your intentions; we have believed, and we have been wrong in so believing, that you were capable of abusing the name which you have taken. In order to escape a fresh danger with which you seemed to threaten us, it became necessary to attempt a means, very uncertain, doubtless, but which might succeed. I could not escape--that would be only to meet you. I gave the necessary orders, then, that you should be introduced here with De Chemerant, hoping that you would surprise me, suddenly, and thus become a witness of the tender intimacy which linked me with the captain----" "How! did you arrange this agreeable scene for me?" cried the Gascon furiously, "and you dare say it to my face? But this is the last degree of degradation and shame, madame. And for what purpose, if you please, did you wish to prove to me the abominable intimacy which binds you to this bandit?" "To the end that it should be impossible for you to take me with you. Monsieur De Chemerant being a witness to my culpable intimacy with Captain Whirlwind, you could not, you who are passing as the Duke of Monmouth, take with you a woman, who, in the eyes of the French envoy, is as culpable as I would appear to him--as culpable as I am." "You acknowledge it, then, madame?" "Yes, and again yes, sir! Do not be generous by halves; what does it matter to you whom I love--a slave, as you say?" "How, madame? What does it matter to me? have you then sworn to drive me mad? And what does it serve that I play the part of your husband? Does he really exist? Is he here, and do you not avail yourself of the mistakes of which I am a victim to get rid of me? Is he not already safely at a distance, this husband of yours? This is enough to drive one mad!" cried the Gascon wildly. "I believe my head is turned; am I or am I not for the past two days the sport of an abominable nightmare? Who are you? Where am I? Who am I? Am I Croustillac? Am I my lord? Am I the prince, am I a viceroy, or even a king? Have I had my throat cut or not? How is this to be explained? This thing must stop! If there _is_ a Duke of Monmouth, where is he? Show him to me," cried the unhappy adventurer, in a state of excitement impossible to describe, but easy to imagine. Angela, frightened and less ready than ever to tell the Gascon everything, said hesitatingly, "Sir, certain mysterious circumstances----" Croustillac did not give her time to go on, but cried, "Still more mysteries! I tell you I have had enough mystery. I do not believe my brain is weaker than any other, but one hour more of this and I shall be a lunatic!" "Sir, if you could understand----"